


strong women

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Rough Sex, avantika Takes Control, beaus a bottom u guys, sexy pirate ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Avantika turns in her chair to look back at her, eyebrow raised, charts spread in front of her. She’s already holding a knife, Beau realizes. Heat stirs in her belly.Definitely just doing this for Fjord. Yup. The fact that Avantika’s an elf with long red hair and tan skin and wiry muscles and knee high leather boots andfantasticboobs has absolutely nothing to do with it, nope.





	strong women

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerDinnerRoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerDinnerRoll/gifts).



Beau loves strong, forceful women. The kind of woman who can cut you down with a look, but will do it with a knife anyways. The kind of woman who’ll happily _fuck Beau up,_ leaving her grinning with blood stained teeth and bruised and sore. Someone who’ll take charge.

Fjord, clearly, does not have the same type as her.

“She’s,” he says, more than a little drunk where he’s sitting next to her, leaning against her side as she nods with almost as drunk encouragement “she’s just so _smart._ I can barely lie to her at all.”

“That’s hot.”

“‘S _terrifying,_ Beau. She’s the enemy. Gonna rip my stone out of my stomach as soon as she gets Vandren’s so she can summon a _death serpent.”_

“Think it’s in the hilt of your sword now,” Beau corrects him muzzily, because she really can’t disagree with the rest of it.

“She’s gonna kill me,” Fjord groans. “She’s-- she’s certainly quite attrive--attraction-- _attractive,_ and a goddamned storm in bed--”

 _“So_ hot.”

“--but she’s gonna _kill_ me,” he despairs. “You got any idea how intimidating it is to sleep with someone who wants to kill you?”

“Most of my fantasies start like that.”

“Not mine,” Fjord says firmly. “The sex is good, but gettin’ laid is somehow making me even _more_ stressed out.”

“Aww,” Beau says. “You want a soft girl.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Fjord says with drunken dignity, spilling a generous amount of his drink down his front as he tries to take a sip.

“A soft _nice_ girl who doesn’t want to murder you. If only we knew someone like that. Oh, wait!”

“Beau,” Fjord growls.

“Yasha!”

Fjord snort laughs into his drink and spurts ale out of his nose. Beau falls off her stool laughing at him.

Beau wakes up some hours later still half drunk instead of hungover (score!), with a brilliant plan. She’s gonna seduce Avantika. That way, she’ll be too exhausted from having loads of great sex with Beau to go and have sex with Fjord, and Fjord can be less stressed and Jester won’t feel jealous and insecure. Helping two friends with one lay. Two birds with one stone! She’s getting pretty good at this friend stuff.

So she gets up to hunt one captain down, determined. It occurs to her to check her room half an hour in, so that’s what she does. She opens the door without knocking.

Avantika turns in her chair to look back at her, eyebrow raised, charts spread in front of her. She’s already holding a knife, Beau realizes. Heat stirs in her belly.

Definitely just doing this for Fjord. Yup. The fact that Avantika’s an elf with long red hair and tan skin and wiry muscles and knee high leather boots and _fantastic_ boobs has absolutely nothing to do with it, nope.

“What is the emergency,” she says in that sexy exotic accent. God, Beau wants to be told to do dirty things by that accent.

“Emergency?” she asks, her brain a bit drunk slow. The way Avantika’s thumb is stroking the hilt of her dagger really isn’t helping, either. She bets her hands are calloused, strong. Dextrous.

“Well, it would have to be a very serious matter indeed to make you enter your captain’s quarters without asking for permission first,” she says pointedly, narrowing her eyes at her.

Beau suffers a brief internal conflict of interests. On the one hand, hot strong scary lady staring her down. On the other, _authority._ Expected obedience, just because Avantika’s on top. The only reason Beau wants to listen to anyone is because she _wants_ to, not because she’s expected to. Now she’s faced with a woman that she wants to listen to _and_ is expected to listen to. She’s weirdly offended.

“I don’t really ask for permission,” she says, feeling herself go belligerent. She should be sucking up, lying, being pleasing and dutiful, but _shit._ She was so bad at that her dad had her kidnapped. She knows it’s a skill to be able to actually swallow down what you really mean when it’s inconvenient, that it’s a good thing to be able to do if you have to. Fjord’s good at it. It’s probably why Avantika’s eyes are on him instead of her. That, and all of the creepy god stuff. “Not my style.”

“I see,” she says, and gets up. Beau’s danger sense goes off. It also sets off a flare of arousal in her gut, as it always does when it’s a beautiful woman who’s being dangerous. She takes a step into the room and closes the door behind her. Avantika steps closer to Beau. She’s still holding the knife, is looking at her intently like a predatory animal. “Insolence is your style.”

“I think it looks good on me,” she says just a little breathlessly.

Avantika’s gaze gains a considering edge, weighing Beau up. Prompted by her tone probably, looking her up and down, putting together the pieces, why she barged in here with zero charisma or tact as usual.

“Well, aren’t you presumptuous,” she says, amused.

“Nothing wrong with confidence,” Beau says. “Nothing wrong with taking the chance, seeing if I’m wanted. _I_ want _you,_ at least.”

She kind of immediately regrets saying that last bit there. A bit too true, a bit too honest. It’ll hurt now, if she gets rejected. Hurt more. She’ll sulk, probably get too drunk and in too many fights, get all banged up, get patched up by a fussing Jester or, even worse, a Caduceus who’ll give her a knowing look while she feels spurned and pathetic.

God, she hates how predictable she is. She won’t even try not to do those things.

Avantika looks amused. Beau doesn’t know what the hell that means for her chances.

“Is that so?” she asks. “No ulterior motives at all for coming here?”

“Uh,” she says awkwardly, wrong footed. “No?”

 _I can barely lie to her at all,_ Fjord had bemoaned. The best liar she knows. She can’t even lie well enough to pretend to be a decent person.

She laughs. “That is certainly one way to get one back at your captain,” she says, still sharp but entertained instead of angry now. Dangerous, but not immediately threatening.

Beau’s brain lags again, soaked in alcohol and Avantika’s smile. Her canines are sharper than is normal.

Oh. Right. Fjord’s supposed to be her captain, technically. She thinks this is, what, a spite thing? Sleeping with the lady he’s fucking (more like she’s fucking him, as far she’s gathered) to get back at him for some slight? Does she really come off as that kind of person?

Fuck, she does, doesn’t she. Angry at authority, mean and petty. She’s technically doing this _for_ Fjord. But she can admit that she may have used slightly twisty logic to get at this conclusion, that it wouldn’t be an easy guess, even for a super savvy cultist pirate captain. And cruel people tend not to consider kindness as a motive, assumes everyone’s just like them but dumber.

Whatever, she can totally use this.

“If you’re worried _you’re_ not getting anything out of it, well, just know that sleeping with his crew will definitely get a reaction out of him,” she says, which is the truth really, she’s just leaving his precise reaction up to her imagination. “And I never leave a woman unsatisfied.”

“Like I would let you,” she purrs, takes the final step into Beau’s personal space. She’s a few inches taller than her. Fuck, she’s goddamned _weak_ for tall women. “I’d chain you to the bed before you could try it.”

Beau’s mouth is too dry for her to respond to that. Oh, chains, oh.

Avantika takes Beau’s lips with a laugh. Her hands go to the back of her head, slip her hair tie off to let her hair loose, threads her fingers into the locks, sharp nails scratching against her scalp. She pushes Beau closer against her to deepen the kiss. She kisses like she’s determined to win.

Beau feels like she’s still on the ship, like the floor is swaying underneath her on the waves. She _is_ a goddamned storm. She’s fast and merciless and she won’t allow for anyone but her to be in control. She smells like the sea and booze and incense.

She holds onto Avantika, and if anyone asked she’d say it’s because she won’t just lie there and take it, she’ll participate, she’ll _wow_ her, she’ll turn the tables, but really, really, she just needs to clutch onto something to keep her balance because Avantika’s kissing her dizzy. She keeps forgetting to breathe.

“Mademoiselle,” she breathes against her lips now smeared with waxy red lipstick, husky and low, and that’s just _unfair._ “I’ve seen you display some impressive acrobatics, yes? Do that.”

It takes her a moment to understand, but then Avantika’s hand is on her ass, pushing up, and realization dawns. She wraps her arms around Avantika’s shoulders and lifts herself up in one smooth motion without hesitation until she’s got her legs securely wrapped around her waist.

Avantika’s laugh is throaty and full, and she looks beautiful looking up at Beau, her hair a red fall, her grip on Beau firm and strong. “Eager little thing.”

Beau flushes despite herself. Doesn’t know what to defensively snap at her in reply. She nudges her heels into the small of her back instead, impatient. “You gonna do something, or what?”

Avantika smirks and then reaches out with one hand to tug at the knot keeping the wrappings around Beau’s chest tight, supporting her with only one hand underneath her ass. The wrappings unravel messily, and Beau takes a deep breath. The wrappings are only firm enough to stop any jostling that might happen while she’s running around backflipping and balancing on shit, but she still feels like she can draw more air into her lungs anyways. Enough to make everything in the room brighter, more vivid, especially Avantika’s red lips and hair and white teeth and eyes, gleaming.

That might just be the way Avantika is mouthing at her breasts, though. Wet kisses, warm tongue and lips, teeth occasionally nipping, making Beau gasp and jerk in her arms. She sucks at a nipple and Beau’s head falls back as she groans. She grinds her hips against Avantika’s stomach, needy and desperate. Avantika chuckles against her skin. What a bitch. Beau wants to be pounded into the mattress by her.

Beau shrieks when Avantika throws her down. The softness of the mattress underneath her is disorienting. Beau had been so distracted by Avantika’s mouth that she hadn’t noticed that she’d walked them all over to the other side of the room, she realizes. She props herself up on her arms to see Avantika making smoldering eye contact with her as she tosses off her hat, her scarf, as she drops her coat to the floor. She takes off her elbow length gloves with slow luxuriousness that makes the heat roil in the pit of her stomach, makes her pinch her thighs together tight because fuck, god. She sneaks a hand down her pants to give her some fuckin friction already. She’s warm and wet and she couldn’t stop her hips from jerking up into her own touch for the life of her.

“Your hands could be put to better use,” she says.

“I don’t think I agree,” she grunts, slipping a finger into herself. She sighs, some small amount of relief uncoiling her tense muscles just a bit.

Avantika puts her boot up on the bed. “The sooner we are undressed, the sooner we can work on the satisfaction, yes?”

Realization again. “You can take off your own boots,” Beau spits like she’s offended, and maybe she is, but it mixes well with the arousal that flares at the silent order. Kink is only good because you know you aren’t supposed to be doing it, the way food tastes better if you stole it.

“Beauregard,” she says sternly, because the Mighty Nein are fucking awful at remembering code names and Avantika really is terrifyingly clever. “Remove my boots.”

She’s not doing this because she’s been told to and that gets her hot. She’s doing this because she wants to.

God, strong women. She’s helpless before them.

Avantika’s boots are leather. Faded black, firm and supple but old and worn enough to be soft instead of chafingly stiff. Perfect boots. The slow slide of them down her long legs feels like the best kind of strip tease. Beau tosses them onto the floor like she doesn’t care, a small rebellion.

Avantika notices, of course, and she doesn’t let go, of course. She captures Beau’s jaw in a bruising grip and hauls her in for a searing kiss. She bites her lips sore. Beau holds onto her and pulls her in, down, over her. Avantika’s hair is a curtain around them. Beau’s still wearing her vest, Avantika’s got her sleeveless white button up shirt, and they’re both wearing pants. God, is there no end to their clothes? Beau reaches up and rips Avantika’s shirt open, buttons flying. There are _wrappings_ in her _way._ They make complete practical sense, and they absolutely incense her.

Avantika laughs at her, surprised and delighted. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“I’m sure I can afford it,” she says shortly, pawing at Avantika’s wrappings, trying to find where she can begin to unwind them.

“You’ll pay for it _now.”_

And with that Avantika shoves her own pants down past her knees, grabs Beau’s fumbling hands and holds them down into the mattress over her head, grip bruisingly tight. It would be as impossible for her to bite back her moan as it’d be to will herself to stop bleeding when hurt.

And then Avantika settles herself higher on Beau, one hand on her wrists, the other steadying herself on the beds headboard, and her thighs around Beau’s ears. Beau’s breath catches.

“O--okay,” she stutters, instead of something smooth and seductive and witty, because she is having a goddamned hard time thinking about anything but the way Avantika is lowering herself down onto Beau’s face. Beau’s eyes flutter shut as her mouth meets Avantika’s cunt. Avantika lets out a shuddering breath as Beau reflexively licks into her slick folds.

“Good girl,” Avantika says as Beau licks further, and that’s a goddamned condescending pet name and she won’t respond to it and she isn't, okay, she’s just groaning at the taste, at the way Avantika’s scratching her sharp nails along Beau’s scalp again. Her hands are free. She uses them to grasp at Avantika’s hips, to help steady and balance and push and pull her in whatever way that’ll draw the most noises out of her.

Slickness drips down Beau’s chin and Avantika grinds down against her pliant mouth mercilessly. Beau wishes there was something between her legs _she_ could grind against. Avantika’s making shameless moans that sounds like she’s enjoying the _fuck_ out of some delicious treat, and the heavy weight and taste and smell of her, the feel of her bare thighs close around her head, it’s all filling her with a restless needy energy. She feels like she’s going to explode with need. She needs to be _touched._

She reaches out a hand to slip down her pants. Avantika snatches it out of the air.

“You’ll need your focus, dear,” she says, looking down at her, eyes dark. She pulls Beau’s hand up and kisses the perpetually raw knuckles without breaking eye contact. “Finish your task, and you’ll get your turn.”

What a fucking bitch. Beau’s hips jerk helplessly, fruitlessly, and she pulls Avantika against her, works on her until her jaw aches like she just got sucker punched twice on both sides.

Being bossed around _isn’t_ turning her on. She likes strong women, she likes rough sex with strong women, but, but. It’s just because she’s so beautiful, is all. Avantika’s undone her own chest wrappings, slipped off her ruined shirt, kicked off her pants all the way, and she has her head tilted up towards the ceiling as she happily sighs.

That’s what making her so wet. Not the hand holding a tight grip in her hair, jerking her head around in small controlling twitches according to Avantika’s whim.

Pain has always made her feel alive. She’s always liked to get laid the day after a fight, the way every kiss stung against her split lip, the way groping hands made her breath catch every time they brushed over an aching bruise. So satisfying, a bone deep hurt mixing with the pleasure, like the burn of a good workout but _more._ But she’s never asked for it, never asked for pain from the women she’s wanted to fuck. That’d be different. That’d be saying-- what? That she likes to be fucked with? Pushed around? What does that say about her? She’s not some pushover people can treat however they want. She’s _not._

It just so happens that the way Avantika’s presumptuously treating her-- like a fucktoy, like something she can use --is how she wants to be treated, fire singing in her veins.

“Good,” Avantika says, her voice tense. She’s right on the edge. “Just a little more, eager thing.”

 _She’s just so smart,_ Fjord had despaired.

Smart enough to see right through Beau like she’s glass? To see how much she loves this?

She’s got no idea whether or not she hates or loves that idea. It’s hard to think about anything over the noises of Avantika’s cry as she comes. Her thighs tense around her, her hand in her hair goes even tighter, and she curls around Beau’s head as she rides it out. Beau groans into it, and Avantika rocks down in response.

One long moment later, Avantika bats Beau’s hands away from where they’re pressing finger shaped bruises into her hips, and she rolls over and collapses onto her bed. She’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, fresh and sexy. Beau wants to lick it all off of her. Avantika lies limp, soaking in her orgasm. Beau, untouched, climbs hungrily on top of her, desperate for recicropation by now.

Avantika opens her eyes, looks up at her from underneath full lashes, her gaze sultry and satisfied.

“Good job, sweet thing,” she says, voice throaty.

Beau makes a _noise_ and attacks Avantika’s throat with her teeth. Avantika laughs that full laugh, as rich as the best kind of stolen wine. Avantika cradles the back of her head. “There, there. You’ll get your reward now.”

Avantika wedges her knee between Beau’s legs, and Beau rocks against it with a gasp.

“You’re overdressed, darling.” She plucks at Beau’s vest pointedly. Beau rips the vest off without hesitation, nevermind that it’s not covering anything anyways. Avantika’s right. She needs to be naked _right now._ She almost rips her pants off instead of shucking them off. She’s beyond caring at the moment even though they’re one of her only two pairs at the moment.

Avantika laughs, amused, and then tips Beau over onto her side next to her instead of looming over her. She uses light prodding movements. She doesn’t have to use strength. Beau will move however and where ever the fuck she wants for her to move if it means that she gets to come already.

“Sweet thing,” she coos, and trails one of her hands down to Beau’s cunt. Her finger practically glides into her with how wet she is, she just _needs this_ so damned much. A noise that’s higher than anything she’d ever normally allow from herself leaves her at the touch, at the way Avantika curls into and cups her. Her movements are smooth, practiced.

 _“Fuck_ me,” Beau groans.

“Yes,” Avantika says, and does so. She rolls Beau onto her back, lies on top of her and fingers her and kisses and bites her lips sore and bloody and wonderfully, perfectly sensitive. She can’t stop making noises. God, she’s like a bitch in heat.

Avantika pets and strokes her like she’s a prize, a pet, a treasure, someone who’s done well, and the heat and coiled energy inside of her builds and builds until she’s squirming underneath Avantika like she’s struggling against something, but she just wants to give in, to let go, to be consumed and submerged and let the cresting waves crash over her and rip her away and _take_ her until she can’t think or breathe-- 

“Avantika!” she cries, desperate.

“Beauregard,” Avantika responds evenly, and then she harshly pulls at Beau’s hair, bites down on her shoulder and sinks her teeth down into her flesh until she _bleeds_ and Beau _screams_ and the waves are finally here, she’s finally drowning, thank god, thank god.

Before she’s even washed back up on shore, before she’s even opened her eyes to the sky, before she’s taken her first breath, Avantika says, “Again.”

Beau blinks the dots out of her eyes. Looks at her. Avantika is smiling.

“I’m far from done with you yet, dear.”

She limps out of Avantika’s room hours later, feeling like she just went ten rounds with the burliest guy on the street. She’s bleeding, aching, sore, dizzy, _exhausted._ Kind of delirious with satisfaction. Best sex of her life. Most _intense_ sex of her life.

Beau thinks that it may not just be Fjord. Avantika may just make anyone who sleeps with her feel like they’d made love to a predator animal who was as likely to eat them as let them leave unscathed.

Beau’s definitely not leaving unscathed. The fact that she’s half dreaming about going back next night does not say great things about her sense of self preservation.


End file.
